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TYPES OF PAN 



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TYPES OF PAN 

By 
KEITH PRESTON 




BOSTON AND NEW YORK 

HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 

MCMXIX 



I I I 1 1 1 " ' 






COPYRIGHT, I919, BY KEITH PRESTON 
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 



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MH 22 !9!9 



CI.A51560 6 



TO MY WIFE 

:/- 



NOTE 
Acknowledgments are due to the Chicago Tribune, the Chicago 
Daily News, and the New York Tribune for permission to re- 
print verses which originally appeared in " The Line o' Type," 
** The Periscope," and " The Conning Tower "; also to Reedy'' s 
Mirror for permission to reprint "Noah, 1919." keith preston 



CONTENTS 



Shopping on Parnassus 3 

The Ballad of Uptodateness 4 

Alice in Lyric Land 5 

Standardization 6 

Our Defy 7 

Ex Cathedra 7 

After the War 8 

Good Cheer 8 

Variations on Horace 9 

Ad Postumum 10 

Foul is Fair 12 

The Eternal Conflict 13 

On Seeing Things at Sea 14 

Songs of the Underworid 14 

To Cynthia 15 

Bill Run 16 

To Alcimus 17 

A Tangleword Tale 18 

Swallows 19 

Hydrophobia 20 

To Heliodora 20 

Ups and Downs 21 

Hercules and Omphale 22 

Recessional 22 

Pervigilium Monachi ..23 

The Value of Greek 24 

Onomatomancy 25 

Spider and Spinner 26 

The Periscope 

The Poet Grouches 27 

Holeproof Hank 28 

What do we Care? 30 

Live Interviews with Live Authors 30 

Heroes of Fiction : Tarzan 33 



CONTENTS 



Jack and Jill 33 

The Children's Encyclopedia 35 

Timely Topics 36 

The Bath Poets 36 

The Shower of Cold 37 

My Cabinet 38 

Observation 38 

Sorrows of a Prof 39 

The Exact Attitude 39 

The Estivation of Bores 40 

In Flapper Time 40 

To Peace 41 

Johnny Comes Marching Home 41 

Lacrimae Rerum 41 

The Hunting of the Turtle 43 

The Murman Coast 44 

The Two Brooms 45 

On the Spree 45 

An Ace 46 

The Sensitive Superman 46 

The Navy Way 47 

The Hyphenated Muse 47 

Woodrow, Spare that Treaty 48 

The German Way . 49 

Foster Children 49 

Where shall we Lean? 50 

Retrospect 50 

A German Noah's Ark 51 

The Social Hour 52 

Mirage 53 

The Prune and the Prism 54 

Chin Que Song 54 

Hook and Line 55 

My Visitant 50 

Divers Conceits 56 



CONTENTS XI 



Lines to a Roast Water Fowl 57 

Wonders of the West 58 

Ballade d'Autrefois 59 

On the Dry Seas , 60 

To Central 61 

The Lost Art 62 

Reroute 'Em 62 

Sol Invictus 63 

Love o' Trees 64 

July, 1918, at Bell, Michigan 65 

Back to Nature 65 

Spinning our Span 66 

Our Cloven Spoofs 66 

A Snapshot 67 

The Bachelor Clam 67 

Half-Told Tales 68 

Pierre I'Hermite 68 

That Ambiguous Bird 69 

Sheba 70 

Chanson de Pung 71 

Noah, 1919 72 



TYPES OF PAN 



What shall I call my tiny wit ? 
A pebble dropped in an endless pit, 
Striking those dark, unyielding walls 
But tinkling, tinkling! as it falls. 



TYPES OF PAN 



Shopping on Parnassus 

I WENT to the Smart Shop 

Where words are retailed and retailored 

For vers litre poets. 

And they showed me a tray of nouns. Let me see, 

There were aloes and sandal and musk, 

Sea poppies and slit conch shells. 

Anemones and algae, 

Spume and spray ; 

There were heights and depths, throes and thrills, 

rouge 
And drabs. 

And they showed me a tray of adjectives, drooping- 
Shouldered, half-virginal, wind-scattered, draped, 
Undraped, ruffle-skirted, wan-green, ochre, yes. 
And drab. 

And I passed up the verbs and asked 
To see the thoughts. 
But, 

So they told me, they were all out; 
There was no demand; 
I might find what I wanted 
In the notions. 



4 TYPES OF PAN 



The Ballad of Uptodateness 

Where are the nuts of a bygone day 
That showed old Horace the modern way, 
That pulled for Art with a capital A? 

Where, oh, where are they? 
They left not so much as a busted lyre, 
But maybe they sing In the heavenly choir. 

Where are the hazels of long ago 

That called Bill Shakespeare effete and low, 

That did big things that were sure to grow? 

Where, oh, where are they? 
Nobody knows of a single one, 
But maybe they write for the Zion Sun. 

Where are the filberts of yesteryear. 
That were far too good for the public here? 
Maybe they bow while the angels cheer. 

And maybe they don't. 
Maybe they do and maybe they don't. 
But we know some now that we're blame sure 
won't. 



ALICE IN LYRIC LAND 



Alice in Lyric Land 

In lyric fields when Alice roams, 

The brooklets croon, the gloaming gloams. 

There's sheen o' star and shine o' moon, 

Spun gossamer and velvet June, 

When Alice dons her silver shoon. 

And opes the mystic door to me 

That answers to her mystic key. 

When Alice strolls in lyric land 
One hears the full cicada band. 
And sweet, above their strident blare, 
So sad, so shy upon the air. 
Half virginal and wholly fair — 
When Alice nears the lyric wood 
That hermit thrush is going good. 

When Alice walks in lyric lane. 

The faery folk all five again. 

She hears their elfin music faint, 

She sees them trying to be quaint. 

Sometimes they are, sometimes they ain't: 

But anyhow, they do their best. 

And Httle Alice does the rest. 



6 TYPES OF PAN 



Standardization 

I WENT to the Book Yards — 

The Pot-Boiler Works 

Some call it — 

Where next year's best sellers 

Are in the stocks. 

And there I saw four and twenty 

Book Wrights assembling 

Standardized parts. 

They showed me piles of green timber, Western 

stuff, 
Of course, some sticks already cut and dried for 
Heroes and heroines, perfect thirty-sixes; 
All they have to do is 
Match 'em and splice 'em. 
And they showed me the plates, 
Interchangeable to fit 
Any situation. 

And I thought of the high cost 

Of torpedoes: 

"What's one periscope," thought I, 

"Among so many?" but anyhow, I swore 

To do my damnedest. 



EX CATHEDRA 



Our Defy 

Horace, Satires, I, 4» i37 sq. 
Uhi quid daiur oli inludo chariis 

Some ride, some golf, some bridge, some bibble: 

When I have time to burn I scribble. 

In lightest vein and, maybe, poorly — 

This is a fatal foible sm-ely. 

It pains you, friend? You hate it? Yes? 

I'll sound the poet's S.O.S. 

For we are thick 'round here as leaves 

Upon the upas tree or thieves. 

We do not ask you to admire: 

Respect our numbers or retire. 

Ex Cathedra 

Horace, Odes, I, 29 
Icci, beatis nunc Arabum invides 

Well, Doctor, who'd have thought you were the one 

To grudge his swag to the uncanny Hun, 

To grab a bomb and hike amid the vulgar 

Against the bloody Turk, the Boche, the Bulgar? 

What round-eyed Gretchen sadly soon will see 
Her schatz dissected by a Ph.D.? 
What Prussian Lieut reluctantly will lug out 
For you the looted tipple from his dug-out? 



8 TYPES OF PAN 

Who can deny that U-boats may contain 
Life-saving crews and bless the harmless main? 
Or on the senate service flag appear 
A star for La Follette, their volunteer? — 

When Elzevirs and Aldines, too, you sell, 

Those books you bought so dear and loved so well, 

Your hood and gown, scholastic panoplies, 

To pay for khaki and to buy puttees? 

After the War 

Horace, Odes, III, i4 
Run, boy, some cigarettes, cork tips; and say! 
A bottle, too, laid down before The Day, 
That 'i3 vintage, boy, if there be one — 
An embusque that dodged the thirsty Hun. 

Good Cheer 

Horace, Epod. i, 53 sq. 
Non Afra avis descendat in ventrem meum 

No Guinea fowl (don't dare to ask it) 

Shall nestle down in my bread basket. 

Till now eupeptic; 

No turkey taste shall gobble me 

To atrabilious penury, 

A sad old skeptic. 



VARIATIONS ON HORACE 9 

I find that hominy and rice 
Or peas and pulse are very nice, 
And cheap besides ; 
I need no doc my pulse to test, 
My pangs appease, for all is rest 
In my insides. 

So — one more thing for me to rime on — 
At simple hfe I 'm Simple Simon; 
The feed man stops by every day 
And so I munch dull care away; 
And so may all of you that see 
This homily on hominy. 

Variations on Horace 

Here 's a slap for fickle Pyrrha 
And the thorns her roses wear, 

Pity for the lad that 's tangled 
In the meshes of her hair. 

Doting fool, his hopes will founder 
As the winds awake that sleep, 

Now the catspaw that caresses. 
Then the black and angry deep. 



10 TYPES OF PAN 



Happy thou, to sit in safety 
High and dry upon the shore, 

Fling thy dripping weeds to Neptune, 
Chase the golden girl no more. 

Yet, I fear me, should she sparkle, 
Should she smile again for thee. 

Thou wouldst trim thy shattered pinnace 
And put out again to sea. 

Ad Postumum 

Horace, Odes, II, 1 4 
Eheufugaces, Postume, Postume 

Ah, me, how fleet they go, 

O Postumus, my Postumus, 

The ghding years; no piety 

Stays wrinkled age for you and me, 

Nor death indomitable. 

Not if each passing day 

You slay three hecatombs of bulls 
To tearless Pluto that still holds 
Sad Tityos in thrall and folds 

Thrice ample Geryon 



AD POSTUMUM 11 

Within that dolorous tide 

Not wide, that each and all must sail, 
Yea, whosoever eats earth's fare 
The rich lord of a county there, 

Or needy tenantry. 

In vain we shun red war. 

The roar of Adriatic waves ; 
In vain through autumn days we fear 
That death that haunts the dying year. 

The pestilent Sirocco. 

Visit we must the black. 
The slack meandering stream, 

The cursed spawn of Danaus, 

With y^olus* son Sisyphus 
To lingering labor damned. 

Leave them you must, the soil. 
The toil, the home, the wife you love, 

And of a-many trees you tend 

But the dark cypress at the end 
Shall shade its short-lived master. 

An heir shall drain the lees 
That keys an hundred ward to-day, 



12 TYPES OF PAN 

And stain your pavements with the drip 
Of wines still prouder than men sip 
At pontificial banquets. 

Foul is Fair 

Horace, Odes, 2, 8 
Ulla si iuris iibi peierati 

If broken vows would make, my Flossie, 

Your teeth less white, your nails less glossy, 

I might believe this stuff about 

How all our sins will find us out. 

You give your promise, "hope to die," 
And grow more lovely as you lie; 
And when you walk the avenue 
The whole durn town runs after you. 

You pledge the plot where mother lies, 
The stilly night, the stars, the skies. 
The blessed gods that live alway ; 
You lie and lie and make it pay. 

Yes, Venus chuckles in her sleeve. 
The Graces laugh as you deceive, 
Fierce Cupid whets his darts and smiles. 
(He makes munitions for your wiles !) 



THE ETERNAL CONFLICT 13 



Then, too, the cradle feeds your hopper; 
The yearlings flock to come a cropper. 
Your graduates can't bear to quit, 
Though they have often threatened it. 

You scare the pater and the mater, 
For fear their lamb will see you later. 
And brides keep hubby tied, they say, 
For fear you'll whistle him away. 

The Eternal Conflict 

Horace, Odes, II, i, 29-Ao 
Quis non Latino sanguine pinguior 

What field is not more fat with Latin blood, 
Scarred with new graves where warring legions 
thrust? 

The Orient listens breathless for a thud, 
Europe that topples in the western dust. 

What lake unchoked, what river running free, 
Now that the carnage spreads beyond the land? 

Our blood incarnadines the furthest sea, 
Blood of our sons is spilled upon the sand. 

But stay, my Muse, light, laughter-loving jade, 
Touch not the Cean dirge; be gay, be witty. 

Dally a while with me beneath the shade, 
Pick me a prancing pizzicato ditty. 



14 TYPES OF PAN 

On Seeing Things at Sea 

Horace, Odes, I, 3 
Qui siccis oculis monsira naiantia 

" What form of death feared he 

That first beheld dry-eyed 

Sea monsters swimming?" 

Such Flaccus' question. 

Well, I should say that we 

Would call that guy pie-eyed 

From bumpers brimming, 

Or indigestion. 

Songs of the Underworld 

Horace, Odes, 2, i3, 21 sq. 
Quam psenefurvae regna Proserpinae 

Where burning Sappho sings her song 

In Hades, no one listens long; 

Their Hfe, no doubt, is hot enough 

Without that calorific stuff. 

The shades all push and crowd 't is said 

To hear Alcseus wake the dead 

With martial cadences as catchy 

And twice as ancient as Pagliacci. 

So Horace sang, but now, we fancy. 
He's wiser in his necromancy. 



TO CYNTHIA 15 



Suppose that snappy stuff like Al's 
Goes bigger here than Dick Le Gal's; 
On that side Styx all heads are clear, 
There is no bone from ear to ear. 
Those necropolitan elite, 
The Plutocrats of Pluto street, 
Have learned a thing or two we know 
From all the clever folk below. 
They know Falernian and Massic, 
How Pegasus annexed the Classic, 
And Hercules caused quite a fuss 
By tying cans to Cerberus. 
Ah, yes, friend Horace, I dare swear. 
Your Sapphics get a hand down there. 

To Cynthia 

Propertius, I, 2 
Quid iuvat ornaio procedere, vita, capillo 

Tell me, why those Pickford curls, 
And that sheer Georgette? 

They might make another girl, 
But, dear, don't forget. 

Nature turned you out a star 
Frills can only dim; 



16 TYPES OF PAN 

Cupid's costumes simple are, 
Take a tip from him. 

See how colors light the field, 

Ivy twines unsought, 
Lonely grots arbutus yield, 

Brooklets run untaught. 

Nature strews the tinted pebbles, 

Gems on every beach, 
Gives the birds that artless treble 

None could ever teach. 

I would not, to spoil your fun, 

Spring the green-eyed stuff; 
But a girl that pleases one 

Is dolled up enough. 

Bill Run 

Martial, I, 79 

Bill used to run for president, he was a poor excuse; 

Bill ran the state department till Bill ran out of juice. 

Then William was a pacifist and running like a rab- 
bit. 

He ran himself into the ground and broke that run- 
ning habit. 



TO ALCIMUS 17 



To Alcimus 

Martial, I, 88 
Alcime, quern rapium domino cresceniihus annis 

Alcimus, lost to thy master at the dawn of thy 
young day, 

Now the sod lies light upon you where you rest beside 
the way. 

Take from me no gift of marble, stone of Paros, 
builded high, 

Idle tribute to thy ashes, doomed to topple by and 
by, 

But the pliant box, the shadows of the close protect- 
ing vine. 

And the green, green grass above you, stiU bedewed 
with tears of mine. 

Take, dear lad, this simple record of thy loving mas- 
ter's pain ; 

With each rising generation Alcimus shall Hve again. 

When the grim relentless spinner shall have spun my 
final thread, 

Even so may I be gathered to my place among the 
dead. 



18 TYPES OF PAN 



A Tangleword Tale 
Ovid, Met. V, 385 sq. 
Pluto, in his big buzz wagon, 
Long and low, without a tag on, 
With no license to be there. 
Met Persephone the fair, 
Picking flowers in childish play 
By the primrose paths in May, 
On the flowery ways of Henna — 
Recking little of Gehenna. 

So he stopped and begged a posy. 
Took her in and made her cozy — 
Gave 'er gas and hit on six 
To the seamy side of Styx, 
Where that car, as bubbles will. 
Gave the trusting maid a spill. 

So she queans it now in Hades, 
'Mid those other shady ladies; 
And she 's picking flowers of sulphur 
Where the netherlands engulf her. 
Nothing seems to matter much — 
Gasoline put her in Dutch. 



SWALLOWS 19 



You may ask why poor Demeter 
When no Persy ran to meet her, 
Did not go to the poHce 
(For they had a force in Greece). 
WeU, she found that Pluto's pull 
Was too much for any bull; 
Pluto's word was law, they tell us, 
In the underworld of Hellas. 

Swallows 

From the Greek of Agathius Scholasticus 
All the night I toss and fret. 
With the dawn I half forget. 
But those swallows, everlasting, 
Twitter roundabout me casting 
Tear drops in my waking eye. 
Pushing sweetest slumber by; 
And I weep upon the rack 
For Rodanthe that I lack. 
Cease, ye jealous babblers, ceasel 
Let me lose myself in peace. 
'T was not I, you know it well, 
Tore the tongue from Philomel; 
Scold that wicked hoopoe sitting 
'Mid the lonely hills or flitting 



20 TYPES OF PAN 

Through the wilderness lament 
Itylus, with my consent. 
Let me sleep, to dream, maybe, 
That Rodanthe clings to me. 

Hydrophobia 

From the Greek of Paulas Sileniiarius 
Sober men by mad dogs bitten 
With that water fear are smitten, 
See in cup or pool, 't is said. 
Horrid shapes and faces dread. 
So, my dear, when first you met me 
Cupid tripped me and upset me. 
Wicked little nipper, he, 
Sank a poisoned tooth in me. 
Made me hydrophobiac — 
Aqua pura brings you back. 

To Heliodora 
From the Greek of Meleager 
Pour! and again and again, yet again, cry "Helio- 
dora!" 
Pledge, with the wine that we sip, blending her name 

on the lip: 
Deck me with myrrh-moist roses, a chaplet from yes- 
terday's revels. 



UPS AND DOWNS 21 

Lingering blossoms that stir wistful remembrance of 
her. 

Look, how the bright drops mantle the roses, famil- 
iars of lovers. 

Tears for the waste of her charms, vanished away 
from my arms. 

Ups and Downs 

From the Palatine Anthology 
Your paunch is round and near the ground. 

Your neck is long and slender, 
The notes that gurgle from your throat 

Are musical and tender. 

I thirst for your companionship, 

My jolly old decanter. 
So full of quips and quaint conceits 

And pleasantries and banter. 

But tell me, gossip, why when I 

Am dry, you full of sherry, 
Your spirits sink the more I drink, 

And ebb as I grow merry. 



22 TYPES OF PAN 

Hercules and Omphale 

Oriental charmer, she, vulgarly, a vamp; 

Virile and red-blooded, he, we should say, a champ. 

Poets tell us how she fished, wily Omphale! 

Caught and used him as she wished, in her knittery; 

How he humbly held the wool, at the lady's knees, 
Tried the helmet on for her, Doting Hercules I 

Recessional 

Maids of Athens trod thy presses 
With the vine leaves in their tresses, 
Flushing hot to thy caresses, 
Dionysus. 

Thou wert prompter on the stages 
Of the old heroic ages; 
Witness Alexander's rages 
Back in Susa. 

Maenads danced to thee dishevelled, 
Lavish Cleopatra revelled, 
Nero fiddled and bedevilled 
Burning Rome. 



PERVIGILIUM MONACHI 23 

While thy rhabdomancy held, 
Rockbound springs of fancy welled, 
Lyrics flowered and poets swelled, 
Dithyrambic. 

We have loved thee for thy lotus. 
Thy Sargasso seas that float us, 
Honeyed philtres that devote us 
To fond phrensy. 

Now we know the dulcet uses 
Of the unfermented juices, 
We have fathomed all thy ruses, 
Barleycorn. 

Yes, to close this salmagundi 
In the age of BiUy Sundae, 
Mr. Bryan, Mrs. Grundy, — 
Thou art done. 

Pervigilium Monachi 

Cras amet qui numquam amavit, quique amavit eras amet 
Hymn of Cypris, Aphrodite, golden litany of love, 
Haunting challenge of the wanton, of the serpent to 
the dove; 



24 TYPES OF PAN 

Did that old grey monk who traced it, handing on 

the lilting line, 
See the myrtle and the dancers, feel the swirl of love 

and wine? 
Did it warm a lonely vigil in his cold grey cell of 
^'1 stone, 
Lifting him above his Credo and the masses he would 

drone? 

Cras amet qui numquam amavit quique amavit eras 

amet — 
If our monk had known the Latin, would the song be 

living yet? 
Was his labor penitential, in a chain of daily screeds, 
Did he do it for Religion, telling out the lines as 

beads? 
Yes, I often idly wonder, often think of him as odd. 
Handing down the torch of Venus to the glory of his 

God. 

The Value of Greek 

Now Huxley once wrote to an artist, 
"To aid my researches, dear friend, — 

I ask in the interests of science, — 
How far down do blushes extend?" 



ONOMATOMANCY 25 



Had Huxley been wise to his Homer, 
The earhest bird of the Greeks, 

He need not have begged for this info 
That held up his studies for weeks. 

For Homer got up with the chickens, 
And, watching Miss Dawn as she rose, 

Has left as a matter of record 
The singular pink of her toes. 

Onomatomancy 

The urge of the midge to the flame. 
Is naught to the lure of a handle; 

The mind is a fluttering moth 

And a name is the perilous candle. 

I know names that are smoother than silk, 
And names that are softer than butter ; 

I know names that are perfectly sweet. 
And names that are utterly utter. 

If Cleo had only been Liz 

Her beauty would not have distraught me. 
If Flo had been Irma her phiz 

Would never, no never, have caught me. 



26 TYPES OF PAN 

Oh Min! When I hear it I wince! 

Maria may rank as a charmer; 
But her monicker makes her a quince: 

A name is the joint in my armor! 

Spider and Spinner 

Arachne spins a gauzy net 

That floats and shimmers on the lawn; 
By noon that web is fouled and rent 

Which hung so perfect at the dawn; 
And when the wind of evening stirs, 

Arachne's gossamers are gone. 
Arachne, as no doubt you guess, 
Arachne is the daily press. 

Grave Clio weaves through circling years 
Her age-enduring tapestry. 

Of threads of gold and gossamer. 
The warp and woof of history; 

But since her threads she filches from 
Arachne's webs, 't is hard to see 

Where ends the web Arachne spins, 

Where Clio's filament begins. 



The Periscope 

Being a Menippean Satire on the Book World of 1918 

The Poet Grouches 
A vamp on " Tommy" 
I WENT into a publisher's to sell a batch o' verse, 
The publisher 'e up an' sez, "Go out an' hire a 

hearse!" 
The gals that can the manuscrips, they giggled fit to 

die, 
I outs into the street again and to myself says I : 

Oh, it's Private this, an' Buddy that, an' "Rush 'im 

through the press!" 
For it's 'e that made the publisher that made the 

lucky guess. 
An' it 's Tommy this, Leftenant that, print anything 

you please! 
An' forty publishers stand by while Tommy taps the 

keys. 

Best swap your nom de plume for a nom 
de guerre. 



28 TYPES OF PAN 

Holeproof Hank 
Come gather round old "Holeproof Hank," 
The only living human tank ; 
Who spins a yarn of bullet blocking, 
The best since Cooper's Leather Stocking. 

When first I showed my happy knack, 
They laid a target on my back. 
And thousands clapped for this recruity 
Who shed a bullet like a cootie. 

That holeproof name already mine, 
I reached the western firing line. 
The whole Hun host looked on embattled 
To see the human pill box rattled. 

Machine guns cackled in their nest. 
The bullets beat upon my breast, 
Boche riflemen were firing densely — 
It really tickled me immensely. 

Their field guns firing open sights, 
Scored hits direct like chigger bites. 
But though outflanked and enfiladed, 
I took those trenches all unaided. 



THE PERISCOPE 29 

Just then a German heavy roared. 
The shell burst under me, I soared. 
And as I started swiftly dropping 
I heard the aircraft guns a-popping. 

Thanks be to Bill and Bertha Krupp, 
The bally shrapnel buoyed me up. 
And parachuting lightly down, 
I organized the captured town. 

"And this is where," said Holeproof Hank, 
" I get my air of martial swank, 
That none has earned so well as I — 
Not Private Peat or Arthur Guy." 

Sometimes we sigh for a recrudescence of 
the lampoon in literature and when we get 
it — it is too crude. A pasquinade recently 
published in Reedy's Mirror slams an eas- 
ily recognizable poetess on three counts, 
lack of poise ("She was nervous as a hor- 
net"), surplus of avoirdupois ("Then we 
saw the fat woman") and a penchant for 
corpulent cheroots ("She was smoking a 
cigar as big as a rolling pin"). To all of 
which we should reply: 



30 TYPES OF PAN 



What do we care? 
What do we care for the sort of mesh 
If a soul pulsates in that pulp of flesh. 
What do we care? 

What do we care for the huge cigar, 
If the spark of it be a guiding star, 
What do we care? 

What do we care for the size, indeed? 
It's not the wrapper that makes the weed - 
Was the fiUer grown from a precious seed? 
What do we care? 

Live Interviews with Live Authors 
I 
The Piqua Pioneer 
"Damn the Kaiser?" said Dr. Davis in 
a recent interview. *'Yes, I may fairly 
claim to have originated the expression." 
Reaching for a copy of "The Kaiser as 
I Knew Him," Dr. Davis produced from 
between the leaves a square of rubber of 
the sort known to adepts as a dentist's 
dam. 

"This is the original article," continued 



THE PERISCOPE 31 

the doctor, displaying to the astonished 
reviewer the actual impressions of the im- 
perial teeth. 

"It is true that in vulgar parlance the 
phrase has become, apparently, more 
drastic, but I assure you, sir" — the doc- 
tor smiled wickedly — "as pronounced 
by me it spelled more discomfort for Wil- 
liam than he will find in the future state." 

"Is it correct," asked the reporter, 
" that upon coming out from an appoint- 
ment with you the Kaiser told Von Beth- 
mann-Hollweg he had never been so bored 
in his life?" 

"Well," said the doctor, with a remi- 
niscent smile, "I cleaned out three cavi- 
ties that afternoon — and Bill always did 
hate the buzzer." 

II 

Joseph Hergesheimer 
"What is your favorite line of poetry, 
Mr. Hergesheimer?" began our reporter 
tentatively. His jaw dropped as the noted 
author quoted sharply: 



r 
32 TYPES OF PAN 



'"Hark, hark! The dogs do bark.'" 

At this moment a distant barking be- 
came audible, which increased in rapid 
crescendo and ended in a scratching at the 
door. 

*'0h, the Airedales," reflected the re- 
lieved reporter, and repeated his opening 
gambit. 

"Beg pardon," said Mr. Hergesheimer. 
"You were saying?" 

" What is your favorite line of poetry? " 

The novelist reflected. 

"Amy Lowell has a good line," said he. 

" Only one? " asked the reporter densely. 

The novelist smiled tolerantly. " I refer 
to her commercial ' line ' — poets are very 
commercial people, you know — her poeti- 
cal efi'ects or goods and chattels, as the 
lawyers would pbjase it. Speaking poeti- 
cally, Miss Lowell has added a new muse 
to the old choir, Polyphonia. I am poly- 
phonious myself; Mr. Burton Rascos has 
said it. He is my poetical discoverer." 

"Yes," said the reporter, "Jones never 
thought of that-, but, Mr. Hergesheimer, 



THE PERISCOPE 33 



are we to understand that Miss Lowell has 
influenced your poetic development?" 

"No," returned the author thought- 
fully. " I am not exactly in the position of 
Pope, who 'lisped in numbers, for the 
numbers came.' If I write in numbers I 
owe it, I think, to my early habit of serial 
publication." 

Heroes of Fiction 
Tarzan 
How many thousand readers greet 
Tarzan, half ape, but incomplete, 
And wait, with interest never stale, 
For sequels to complete his tail! 

If sales a trusty index be. 
Of vogue and popularity — 
A fact you simply can't escape — 
The apex goes to this ex-ape. 

Jack and Jill 
Our "Jack and Jill," that simple tale, 

How Mother Goose did slight it! 
Ah, how her careless lines would pale 

If H. G. Wells should write it! 



34 TYPES OF PAN 

First take the hour when Jack was born, 
How anxious papa waited; 

Describe that age with bitter scorn; 
Tell how Jack's parents mated. 

Then analyze Jack's infant bean, 
Recount his careful schooling; 

Sketch Jill's arrival on the scene. 
And paint their childish fooling. 

State how the buckets were procured; 

(Describe a bucket shop.) 
Show how the ill-starred pair were lured 

To tempt the fatal drop. 

Give all the croakings ere the spill; 

The words of faithful granny, 
Depict the aspect of that hill 

With every coign and cranny. 

Tell how they clambered up the slope, 

Observing all the strata, 
And canvassed England's future hope, 

With economic data. 



THE PERISCOPE 35 

Say how the first misstep was Jill's, 
Poor Jack fell down hke Adam ; 

They hit the road beneath the hill 
(The pavement was macadam). 

The Children's Encyclopedia 
"It puts the children over the top," 
says the Grolier Club of "The Book of 
Knowledge," an encyclopedia for chil- 
dren. Now, this, we had supposed, was a 
special function of the late German cen- 
tral staff. 

" It answers every question a child can 
ask," continues the advertisement, pro- 
pounding the following specimens: 

1. How many worlds are there? 

2. Can anything travel faster than 
thought.^ 

3. Will the world ever stop spinning? 

4. Why does an iceberg float? 

5. How does alcohol affect the brain? 

6. How does a cow meike its milk? 

How would you answer these conun- 
drums? Offhand, we would guess as fol- 
lows: 



36 TYPES OF PAN 

1. "One too many for me," says the 
kaiser. 

2. Rumor. 

3. No, now that we have removed the 
German monkey wrench. 

4. Because it can't swim. 

5. It turns the gray matter rosy. 

6. Like mother used to make it. 

Timely Topics 
To the Boston Transcript 
Thanks brother, for that ink you spilt on 
How Grub street changed its name to Milton. 
But how, dear Transcript — there's the rub - 
Change my Mil tonic stuff to grub? 

The Bath Poets 
Some day the bath poets will be as famous 
as the lake poets. The "Bath Classics" 
will no doubt have an introductory chap- 
ter on Alderman John Coughlin of Chi- 
cago. Some readers may perhaps remember 
his poem, "Dear Midnight of Love," 
which, with its fine Turkish flavor, made 
"The Bath" founder of this school. Then 



THE PERISCOPE 37 

there was Amy Lowell's iridescent effusion 
on her tub. From the same tap is drawn 
Miss Charlotte Eaton's "The Bath" 
(" Desire." By Charlotte Eaton. Duffield 
&Co. 1918): 

Without aid of soaps, or sweet smelling lotion, 
Each day do I bathe in the clear Croton water, 
Remaining submerged for long, that my body may 

absorb its invigorating properties. 
Stretched at ease — singing to myself — or exercising 

for mere delight in untrammeled action, etc. 

But for sheer bathos we dare say none 
of the bath poets has attained the success 
of our staff poetess. Miss Aphro Diziac. 
Here is one of her quieter poems in the 
classic vein: 

The Shower of Cold 
At morning in my turret room 

I stand, like Danae of old, 
Expectant for the amorous shower: 

O Zeus! the water's cold! 

But we like better her airy vaporing. 



38 TYPES OF PAN 

"My Cabinet," which has the warmth 
and fervor of Hve steam: 

My Cabinet 
How warm I am when you have clipped me round, 
Head in the clouds and feet upon the ground: 
Dull days may come and Death may cross my path. 
Yet you were mine, my own, my vapor bath I 

We should like to quote further, espe- 
cially from her longer poems. "The Alco- 
hol Rub" and "The Hot Room," but no 
doubt our readers are prepared to admit 
that Miss Diziac is the peer of Amy Low- 
ell, Charlotte Eaton, or "The Bath" him- 
self. 

Observation 
Spring lines are trimmed with flowers, 

That's true of bonnets, 
And, by the powers, it 's still 

More true of sonnets. 



Sorrows of a Prof 
Butterflies 
This breaking social butterflies 

On academic wheels 
Is something, sirs, that ever tries 
The soul that keenly feels; 

This feeding food for grub worms 

To a saucy httle Miss 
That now, as any fool can see, 

Has shed the chrysalis. 

We like to see 'em flutter 

Round the sparks upon the campus, 
And it hurts to see their utter 

Lack o' lustre when they lamp us. 

It seems so sad to net 'em 
And to pin 'em down to cases 

When they look so cute in Arden 
With their fripperies and laces. 

The Exact Attitude 
I LIE supine upon my back 

When I astronomize; 
The blissful ignoramus prone 

Can con the starry skies. 



40 TYPES OF PAN 

Ah, lucky dub, so prone to lie! 

While if I He too prone, 
I either must geologize 

Or fracture my backbone. 

The .Estivation of Bores 

Hibernation, they find it good, 

Big black bears in a wintry wood; 

Bores run loose while the deep snows stay, 

Summer sends 'em to hit the hay; 

Profs and pedagogues aBstivate 

While all the little studes jubilate. 

Bears grow thinner when they hole up, 
Sleep all winter with never a sup. 
Profs grow fat under summer skies, 
Fed on fishes and berry pies. 
Bores hole up on a double ration ; 
Nothing suits 'em like aestivation. 

In Flapper Time 

I LOVE the merry, merry spring, 
When winter long has lasted ; 

Now every flapper — cunning thing! — 
Has some lad flappergasted. 



LACRIM^ RERUM 41 

T is now they lose their callow wits, 
'T is now the purse string looses, 

To buy those rich banana splits 
For flappergastric juices! 

To Peace 

He serves thee ill that brings but loud 

Lip service to thy altar. 
And worships with vain minstrelsy, 

The sackbut and the psalter. 

For every man must pay his tithe 

Of blood and tears or toil: 
Some pay it on the stricken field, 

Some from the guarded soil. 

Johnny Comes Marching Home 

Johnny 's marching home to marry. 

Let us hope he '11 never tire 
Of the harmless curtain lecture, 

And regret the curtain fire. 

Lacrble Rerum 

They gave the ship a name. 
Life quickened all her frame, 



42 TYPES OF PAN 

Speeding from builder's leash down sloping ways; 

Leaping to meet the sea, 

Scenting her liberty, 

Young, strong and made, it seemed, for length 

of days. 
While on the sea, that Ancient gray, 
The age-long rage was lost in light that day. 

In vain would winds arise 

To bay so staunch a prize. 

In vain would lashing wave her ribs assail; 

The shipwright's cunning art 

Made perfect every part, 

Where man has built his best. Ocean must quail, 

To crouch till man shall turn again 

To blast his conquests in that old domain. 

So, in the turn of time, 

Cradled upon the slime. 

Behold a steely thing that lurks and waits, 

Glaring like basilisk 

With cold unwinking disc. 

Until it strikes the gallant ship it hates. 

While in the sea, that Ancient gray. 

The malice wakes of his primeval day. 



THE HUNTING OF THE TURTLE 43 

The Hunting of the Turtle 

The ark of state was sinking fast 

When Lansing tired of baling, 
Said he to Woodrow Wilson, "Sir, 

Thy servant's strength is failing. 
Blue water hems us all around, 

The submarines increase." 
"Fear not," said Woodrow Wilson then; 

"Let loose the dove of peace." 

To Potsdam and to Essen first 

That ardent turtle flew, 
And everywhere the turtle went 

The demonstration grew. 
They greeted her and feted her, 

Berlin to Wilhelmshaven; 
You see, her cooing partly drowned 

The croaking of the raven. 

But when she left her pleasant perch 

Upon the pickelhaube, 
In Petrograd and Paris they 

Mistook her for a Taube. 
In London town they potted her, 

And peppered her for fair ; 



^•'^'=^-^*-«g^-a»^«^- 



44 TYPES OF PAN 

She looped the loop for Woodrow's coop 
Remarking, "C'est la guerre." 

The dove of peace is out again; 

They say she's out to stay; 
The dove, you see, may safely fly 

Where eagles clear the way. 
In London, Rome, and Paris too 

She sheds her friendly quiUs; 
They really like to hear her coo 

When Deutschland pays the bills. 

The Murman Coast 

Said a Murmaid to her Murman 
By the far-famed Murman sea, 

"Have you heard, Lenine and Trotzky 
Are en route to you and me? " 

Said the Murman to his Murmaid, 
By that sea so washy-wishy, 

"Was it via Copenhagen? 
Then, my dear, your tale is fishy." 



ON THE SPREE 45 

The Two Brooms 

/ will sweep it with the besom of destruction. — Isa. XIV. 23 
The Hun he loved the waning moon 

And flew as witches fly; 
His besom of destruction 

He rode across the sky. 
He shrank away from light of day, 

Along with bat and owl; 
He hovered over sleeping towns 

And there his work was foul. 

The Briton loves the light of day, 

And flies as sea mews fly; 
His besom of protection 

Shows clear against the sky. 
He long had nailed it to the mast 

And cleared the seven seas, 
As late he swept the filthy Hun 

And cleaned the midnight breeze. 

On the Spree 

How dark and brown wiU be the taste, 

The dawn how dull and gray. 
What time the Prussians sober up 

At Berlin on the Spree. 



taaimamtammiamdtKSaamtmmmm^mmmmmmmmm aitimmmiiimm'm \.iJ i J t0 mmm 



46 TYPES OF PAN 

The katzenjammer they will have! 

Who now await to see 
The knockout drops we have prepared 

For Berlin on the Spree. 

An Ace 

I NEED — I take — to wing my song, 

One little punning word: 
An Ace on earth, it seems to me, 

Is just a Hunning bu-d. 

A whir, a hum, a dart, a dip, 

A zoom, and off again! 
I wonder, do they hunt the Hun 

Upon that astral plane? 

The Sensitive Superman 

* There once was a brave young Berliner, 
Who bawled for a bath and a dinner. 

"I need soap," he began, 

*'0n my whole superman 
And a barrel of kraut in my inner." 

Then a prominent Turkish official 
Replied in a manner judicial, 



THE HYPHENATED MUSE 



47 



" Do you mind when they sniff? 
Look at us you big stiff! 
O Fritz, you are so superficial!" 

The Navy Way 
On troubled waters oil, we thought, 

Was one sure way to peace. 
And every Httle sub we caught 

Made one more spot of grease. 

The Hyphenated Muse 
Oh, Carranza sent a cable- (on the Kaiser's birthday) 

gram 
To the Kaiser at his Pots- (that's a German palace) 

dam. 
And it said, ''Look out for Uncle (that's my north- 
ern neighbor) Sam, 
For he 's coming after you ! " 

Then the Kaiser waved his iron (as the papers have 

it) hand. 
And he danced a little sara- (that's a Turkish tango) 

band. 
And he said: "Tm safe in Heli- (in the German sea) 

goland. 
But I thank my friend Carranza." 



48 TYPES OF PAN 



WooDROw, Spare That Treaty 
The Imperial German Government appeals to the Treaty of 1799 
Oh, that treaty of seventeen ninety and nine 
Was the first of its kind and the last of its line ; 
And he clung, did the Teut, to this precious old page, 
The last and the best of a rich heritage. 

AU the treaties that stood in the days ante-bellum 
Had gone to the mill save this hoary old vellum ; 
He had pulped, had the Teut, all the treaties around, 
But his love for this stump was both deep and pro- 
found. 

All the parchments had perished, the sheepskins 

were torn, 
This decrepit old document lingered forlorn; 
But the heart that was hard to the ewe and the lamb 
Was tender and true to this doddering ram. 

Oh, this treaty of seventeen ninety and nine 
Was the last dusty flask of an old vintage wine, 
And the Teut shed a tear as he snuffed the aroma, 
The fragrant bouquet of this cobwebbed diploma. 



FOSTER CHILDREN 49 

The German Way 

Along the roads where Roman legions sleep 
The Hapsburg eagles and the German sweep ; 
They shall not wear the glamour that they claim, 
The pomp of Caesar and the Roman name. 

Italia stands and shall, embattled yet. 
Where silver eagles flashed in suns now set; 
The eagle's note, hear Roman Virgil speak : 
"To smite the proud and to exalt the weak." 

The weak, the little cowering peoples know 
The German bluster and the German blow ; 
But let true metal ring, "They shall not pass!" 
Her talons fly like shards of brittle glass. 

Where armies fester and where states decay, 
Where maggot spies have made a mellow prey, 
With sounding vans the German vultures light, 
To rob the jackal and defraud the kite. 

Foster Children 

The world, I think, was like some idle mothers: 
We put our young inventions out to nurse. 

Dame Germany would nurture them so kindly. 
And take the merest pittance from our purse. 



50 TYPES OF PAN 

But then the good old dame grew somewhat ad- 
dled, 

Declared she was the mother of them all; 
Yes, swore they were her very own conceptions — 

And how the scamps obeyed her beck and call! 

Well, lately we have shown 'em that we made 
'em — 

Fritz U. Boat and Carl Taube and the rest. 
But when we have a young idea in future, 

A little home nutrition would be best. 

Where Shall We Lean ? 

Whiskey, wheat, and sugar gone, 

What supports remain? 
First they took the stick from life, 

Now the staff and cane. 

Retrospect 

Now has our wrath been as the tide 

That stirs in its own hour. 
And brushes dike or dune aside 

With slow majestic power. 
It sets before a hidden force, 

It claims the utmost rod: 



A GERMAN NOAH's ARK 51 



Nor ruth nor rage avail to stem 
The tide that moves with God. 

Now have our millions moved as one 

That moves because he must; 
Our foes were as the driven spray, 

The rain, the spiteful gust. 
Be this our pride, our single boast, 

We swept across the sea 
A still, resistless tidal host 

To peace, with Liberty. 

A German Noah's Ark 

The German Sheep 
The German sheep, dear children, grew 

To more than common size; 
Their wool was long and silky too. 

And fell about their eyes; 
And thus they did not see so well — 
I 'm also told they could not smell 

The Prussian Goat 
The Prussian goat, my little dears, 

That wild and skippish beast, 
Conducted sheep from east to west, 

And then from west to east; 



52 TYPES OF PAN 

And when the sheep sat down to rest 
He told them of that awful pest 

The Russian Bear 
The Russian bear, dear children used, 

To shamble round the fold. 
To ask for little lambs to eat, 

And scare their mothers cold; 
But now the bear has other duties 
To catch the Bolsheviki cooties. 

The Social Hour 

Between the dark and the daylight, 
When the night was beginning to lower, 

Came a pause in the trench occupations 
That was known as the social hour. 

As the Russian stars were rising 
And the sun was beginning to sink, 

Then the samovars unlimbered. 
All laden with fragrant drink. 

Then the train of Russ tea wagons 
Went out to the hungry Huns, 



MIRAGE 



53 



And the muzhik laughed at the Teuton chaff 
As the Hun and he crossed buns. 

It was beautiful but not lasting, 

For the pink tea and the buns 
Were nothing to fasting millions 

Of horrible, hungry Huns. 

So they seized on the pink tea wagons 

And the beautiful samovars, 
While the reds walked back with never a snack, 

'Neath the glittering Russian stars. 

Mirage 

The fighting was suspended owing to a mirage, bat upon this lift- 
ing our offensive continued. — British report. 

Still waters glimmering between still palms 
Or ruffled dark by flaws of scented air. 

Vine tendrils, fern, the soft green living things 
A desert dream holds out to travelers there. 

What wonder if the fitful firing broke. 
And quiet brooded on the burning sands. 

While eye and heart yearned towards that faery isle 
As men to peace in other greener lands. 



54 TYPES OF PAN 

The Prune and the Prism 

A philological romance 
She was only a humble prune, 

While he was a prism gay; 
She loved him for his gaudy hues, 

And he called her his souffle. 

Back they came from the honeymoon. 
To a life of sighs and schisms. 

None of you knows the original prune. 
But you sdl know prunes and prisms. 

Chin Que Song 

Obiit, Chicago, June 7, 19 16 

There's a subtle necromancy. 
Like the poppy to my fancy. 
In your soft celestial name, 
Chin Que Song, 

Like some potent anodyne, 
Lotus flower or honeyed wine. 
Or the heavy scent of sandal, 
Chin Que Song; 

So I hope you get the odor 
In your heavenly pagoda 



-^^-''^-rffirnriirir r 1 TiimrfMirfiliit 



HOOK AND LINE 55 

Of the joss that I am burning, 
Chin Que Song, 

As I name you an Immortal, 
Though you never crossed the portal 
Of an Academic Hall, 
Chin Que Song. 

May the little gods of jade 
Be propitious to your shade. 
In a tea house in Nirvana, 
Chin Que Song. 

Hook and Line 

I LOVE to fish with little squibs, 
Or bait my hook with captions. 

Now grubby little jingle worms. 
Now whirligig contraptions. 

It is a wary trout I feed, 

To tickle him is work indeed. 

A hook without a bait is vain 

As rimes without a reason: 
Good quips in May fall flat in June, 

The fly must fit the season. 
How sad to fish for goggle eyes 
And never never get a rise. 



56 TYPES OF PAN 

My Visitant 

I FIND her daily at my doors, 
This flaunting, haunting hussy, 

A welcome guest in idle hours, 
A bore when one is fussy. 

She pries and peers, she sobs and sneers. 

She has an ear for tattle, 
She prates of petty pilferings 

Or tells tall tales of battle. 

You court her favors and she sulks, 

You flee her and she follows. 
Her faith is weak when truth you speak, 

The lies she always swaUows. 

I sometimes try to put her by. 

But yet, I must confess it. 
I grumble with, I pine without. 

My newspaper. God bless it! 

Divers Conceits 

Imagine all the fishes in a parti-colored maze. 
The mottled blue fish gazing at the red and yellow 
rays; 



LINES TO A ROAST WATER FOWL 57 

The scarlet whale lamenting for his former decent 

drab; 
The shark marooned regarding pm-ple patches on the 

crab; 
The groper groping blindly in a cloud of indigo; 
The cod in dizzy colors overcome with vertigo ; 
For this is just what happened when that merchant 

submarine, 
All laden down with dye stuffs, by a British ship was 

seen. 
The cautious German sailor men obeyed the warning 

gun, 
But though the ship was hard and fast the dyes were 

bound to run. 
The cuttle fish quite pop eyed, and with envy green 

beside. 
Beheld the hues this super-squid shot out upon the 

tide. 

Lines to a Roast Water Fowl 

At dawn you slept upon a stone, 
All melancholy and alone, 
A-dreaming of the summer's joys. 
Your mallard mate, the pleasant ploys 
By False Presque Isle. 



sn 



58 TYPES OF PAN 

How false, alas, I weep to tell itt 

Woe worth the gun that sped the pellet! 

It was not mine — I do but dine 

On thy reliques by False Presque Isle. 

And yet, sweet fowl, thy end was blest. 
Like finest gold you stood the test 
Of shrewdest flame and made a roast 
That Brillat Savarin would boast, 
By False Presque Isle. 

'T is hard, dear bird, for you to lack 
The still bay girt with tamarack; 
But know that you were duly prized, 
With onion wept and fletcherized 
By False Presque Isle. 

Wonders of the West 
Dedicated to John Burroughs 
In far-off California, 

Where truth is passing strange, 
The ostriches began to pine 
And sicken on the range. 

At last a fine young cock expired; 
They called the local quacks, 



BALLADE d'aUTREFOIS 59 



Who said the symptoms pointed to 
Ten penny nails and tacks. 

When through his ventral cavity 

A probe was deeply driv, 
They found the late lamented bird 

Had gobbled down a fliv. 

An antidote was found, and now 

Henritis rarely kills. 
Each ostrich farmer dopes his pets 

With little flivver pills. 

Ballade d' Autrefois 
Where are the maids of other days 

When you and I were young? — 
Such maids as Shelley never knew 

And Byron never sung. 
Villon, perhaps, and those old chaps 

Who knew that smiles bewitchin' 
Might make a scullery divine 

Or glorify a kitchen. 

Where are those humble goddesses 
Of mop and broom or skillet 



60 TYPES OF PAN 

That never lost a character 
And seldom changed a billet? 

All vanished like the BufTalo, 
The modest cost of living; 

Their proxy is a doxy in 
This age of flim and flivving. 

On the Dry Seas 

Wonder why that Flying Dutchman never flies to- 
day, 

Lingering in some far offing where lost luggers stay. 

Wonder would our jackies weaken if he should ap- 
pear; 

If the gobs should meet the goblins would n't it be 
queer? 

Wonder why that old sea serpent keeps himself so 

dark; 
Dropping ash cans on his coco — that would be a 

larki 
If our navy ever sights him, that old lobster called 

the kraken, 
Bet a bomb he will be potted or uncommon badly 

shaken! 



TO CENTRAL 61 



Wonder if there is a reason why that scaly humbug 
vanished, 

Why the merman and the mermaid and the Hol- 
lander are banished. 

Was it grog that made 'em see things, have the dry 
seas lost their wonder? 

Did old Davy close his locker when John Barleycorn 
went under? 

To Central 

That time you were so slow 

And I did twit you. 
Central, I never knew 

The flu had hit you. 
Shame on me cussing so! 
Central, I could not know! 

Hearing your distant sneeze 

Filled me with pity: 
Take, Central, if you please, 

This Httle ditty. 
StiU gripped by influenza. 
Clutch at this kind cadenza. 

For when you start to buzz 
I may be as I was. 



62 TYPES OF PAN 



The Lost Art 

Does it make you tired, sirs, amateurish stuff, 
Laymen, sirs, and ministers, trying to be tough? 
Business men and senators, editors and . . . well, 
Everybody's stock in trade is poor old "Helll" 

Not that we're particular, out to play the prude,) 
If they only knew, sirs, what is really rude. 
Cussing was an art, sirs, out in Idaho; 
Ever have a sheep herd tell you where to go? 

Lumberjacks in Michigan — holy Mackinaw! — 
How the wicked words flew flicking on the raw! 
Let us save our breath, sirs, let us be polite; 
Or, if we must cuss, sirs, do the damn thing right! 

Reroute 'Em 

We now demand, with aU our soul, 
Combined with government control, 

Deflection; 
For ^olus, the trafiic king, 
And Boreas are out to sting 

Our section. 



SOL INVIGTUS 63 

Now McAdoo or even Newt 
Could find some better way to route 

These blizzards; 
Refrigerator lines if pooled 
Could end this tie-up that has cooled 

Our gizzards. 

The sunny south must now kick in 
And start to take its Medicine 

Hat weather; 
The situation can be met 
If weather sharps will only get 

Together. 

Sol Invictus 

Old Sol still keeps his ancient thirst, 
Still westward steers to slake it ; 

Briny his nightcap as at first, 
Dry waves can never shake it. 

Though service takes him overseas, 

Old Sol, that thirsty rover, 
Pickled on brine and unabashed 

Sinks westward half seas over. 



64 TYPES OF PAN 



Love o' Trees 

Pines that keep the sun from me, 

Thronging round my roof, 
Dusky shy and dumb to me, 

Near and yet aloof. 
I have seen the starry web. 

Flung about your tops, 
Heard your voices rise, and ebb 

As the night wind drops. 
Lately I have slaved for you, 

Fought the forest fire. 
Saved the cool disdain of you 

From a hot desire. 
I have worn the yoke for you, 

As a faithful Druid, 
Poured libations out to you. 

Pails of Huron fluid. 

Poets' hearts have yearned to oak. 
Ached for birch or pine: 

Poet back was never broke 
As this back o' mine! 



BACK TO NATURE 65 



July, 1918, at Bell, Michigan 

I DO not mind the gnats that tweak like devils' tongs 

hereafter; 
I do not mind the bats that squeal and scratch along 

the rafter ; 
I do not mind the moths that drive like shock troops 

at om* lamp, 
The mice that in our kitchen thrive and riot there 

and ramp; 
Mosquitoes of a super size have scarcely power to 

tease; 
I 'm Uncle Toby to the flies, though when were flies 

like these? 
St. Francis, I, to all the bugs and vermin here at 

BeU. 
For when the Hun is on the run, a man could laugh 

in hell. 

Back to Nature 

I met a belle of Bell, Mich, 
From out the berry patch; 
' And I admired her luscious pick 
As she my whopping catch. 



66 TYPES OF PAN 

were we on the Boul, Mich, 
Madonna of the pails, 

How hick would be your buckets. 
What caviar my whales! 

Spinning Our Span 
Take the string and wind it neatly, 
Poise the top and peg it featly 

In a giddy drop; 
Watch it circle for a stance, 
Stand and bore there in a trance, 

Sleeping like a top. 

See it wake and start to stutter, 
Wobble in confusion utter. 

Topple then and He; 
Like a man that spins and whirs 
In a rut and never stirs 

Till he wakes and dies. 

Our Cloven Spoofs 

A pome is very like a ham, 
The commas like the spice, 

Some like the porcine flavor best. 
Some think the cloves are nice. 



THE BACHELOR CLAM 67 

Our poems, too, are like a ham 
Small matter, sure, for boasting; 

Drop comma cloves, or add to taste, 
And, reader, do the roasting. 

A Snapshot 

To Friend Wife 
What were a negative like me 

Without a sun like you? 
If I turn out a positive. 

You make the hght, you do I 

The Bachelor Clam 

**ShI" shudders he, "it's a shy sad life, 
In our sheltered shuttered shells, 
And I sometimes sigh for a sly, shad wife 
From the shimmering, shining swell. 

"But I love my shelf on the shingly shoal. 
Where the spent waves slide and hiss. 
And I would not climb from the shielding slime 
Of my life of shingle bliss. 

"No, I would not gad with a mad sea shad 
Nor nest with a mollusc mate. 
To long for the selfish life I led 
As a shellfish celibate." 



68 TYPES OF PAN 

Half-told Tales 

So many kiss to-day, 

And die to-morrow: 
And is remembrance sweet, 

Or sweet and sorrow? 

For some say, only sweet; 

And sweet and bitter, some . . 
Ah, who can end the tale, 

When all the dead are dumb! 

Pierre l'Hermite 
What time I fish with rod and reel 
Along the reeds of False Presque Isle, 
I watch the hermit of the place, 
A Great Blue Heron he, by race, 
We call him Peter, or Pierre, 
Because he eats the frogs 'round there. 

Aloof from care or strife or fear. 
Upon one leg he poses near; 
But let a frog so much as hop, 
He seems all neck and bill and crop. 
A whirlwind, he, what time he turns 
His mind to practical concerns. 



THAT AMBIGUOUS BIRD 69 

Fact is, suspicion will persist, 
He is a sort of egotist. 
He has no chick nor child nor egg. 
But knows and shows he has a leg. 
He keeps his bachelor estate, 
Nor ever seems to miss a mate. 

He'll watch me peevishly reel back 

My empty, vain Dowagiac. 

Though for his thoughts I cannot vouch, 

He seems to chide me for my grouch ; 

As who should say, "What's life, old chap? 

A leg, a log, a frog, a nap." 

That Ambiguous Bird 

In the National Guard we would carry a gun. 
We would bleed for the national banner; 

But our patience is done with that national pan: 
Pray can it, National Canner ! 

When handled by Noah and Webster, you see, 

The chicken was merely a bird ; 
But old Noah to-day would be shocked, I dare say. 

At this sly reprehensible word. 



70 TYPES OF PAN 

It is good, as a rule, for a smile on the Boul, 

Or a laugh at a tea or a dinner; 
If you serve it up raw it will win a guffaw: 

Condemn it, all-powerful Tinner. 

Pray, ban and taboo it, cold-pack it or stew it; 

The wits of the peepul may quicken; 
And your name will be blest if you heed our behest, 

And put a quietus on "chicken." 

Sheba 

Chicago could be a queen of Sheba, spread out beside her waters. 

— Editorial, Chicago Tribune 

'Neath sable sylvias she lies 

Spread out beside her waters, 

*Neath wisps diaphanous of murk, 

The fairest of earth's daughters. 

Some day that fuscous veil will lift, 

Some Solomon unborn 
Will see our Sheba as she is 

On some September morn. 

Ah! speed that fair epiphany 

When Middle- Western eyes 
Will see those hidden beauty spots 

That now the East denies. 



CHANSON DE PUNG 71 



Chanson de Pung 
Prate not to me of skate nor ski, 

Nor bob nor sleigh nor cutter; 
No western tongue nor bard has sung 

The word I love to utter. 

Now heed the call, Vermonters all, 

And sing it with a will. 
The old time ballad of the pung, 

The pung we used to fill. 

" Come hitch old Roxy to the pung, 
And let the wild bells jingle 
We'll skim the crust for twenty mile 
With every nerve a-tingle. 

"Up hill and down, by field and town, 
And how that critter races; 
At her best licks old Roxy kicks 
The snow balls in our faces." 

Thou good old pung, thy shafts are sprung, 

Thy runners rust, I trow. 
But still I praise those punging days 

That all Vermonters know. 



72 TYPES OF PAN 

Noah, 19 19 

If good old Noah were here to-day, 
He would not build in the olden way; 
He would not hammer and peg an ark ; 
He'd hie to the back yard after dark, 
And dig and delve in the cool dark ground 
A cellar an hundred cubits round. 

And when that cellar was delved and digged, 
The bins all laid and the tackle rigged, 
He 'd hoist to rest in the cool dark ground 
The critters he loved from the whole world round. 
He'd lower the demijohns, two by two. 
And the little fat kegs of Milwaukee brew. 
The squat black bottles with squirrel inside. 
The little pinch bottles from over the tide. 
The magnums marching in stately pairs. 
The flasks in couples with monkish airs, 
These and more like a chubby mole, 
Noah would stow in his cubby hole. 

Honest Noah! that good old man! 

What would he do when the drought began? 

Would he pity and let them in, 

Shem and Japhet and all his kin? 



NOAH, 1919 73 



Could he, fresh from the flowing spout, 
Watch poor Ham when his tongue hung out? 

Well, I wager he'd pause and think 
Twice at least on the cellar's brink. 
"Durn their hides," he would likely say, 
"Why did they go for to vote that way? 
Going dry in the flood was pie 
To keeping wet when the world is dry." 



CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS 
U . S . A 



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